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pankowfruitsnacks · 2 years

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F R E E F A L L I N G Rudy Pankow Chapter Two

master list | series master list

warning: mention of abusive relationship, bruising, angst

word count: 2.1k

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Nessa woke up the next morning, taking in her surroundings. This is day one away from him and that thought made her want to weep with fear and anxiety. But she wouldn't give herself the time to mope around. The two boys wouldn't understand what she felt, they would think the girl was ungrateful and stupid. Nessa feared Drew would soon change his mind if she became too much.

So pushing all her feelings aside, the girl swooped her naturally wavy blonde hair in to a bun and began cooking breakfast for everyone. It's the least she could do.

Nessa ran her finger over her bottom lip, thinking where the ingredients were. She didn't need much, just biscuits, gravy, eggs, sausage, and a few other things. Drew had previously made homemade gravy so there was no hassle in grabbing that, the biscuit dough needed to be cut and placed at the bottom of a dish, while the sausage and egg mix sat on top, layered in gravy. The perfect breakfast casserole.

Rudy woke up the sound of someone singing and a heavenly smell of sausage cooking. Drew was probably up already, so he did his best to get up as well. Grabbing a pair of grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Him and Drew has a day off so they were just going to chill for a while.

As he stepped out into the living area, he noticed the blonde hair girl standing over the oven trying to pull some dish out, singing along to some old hits. His heart immediately dropped as he recalled the events from last night. Part of him wished it was some twisted dream, but here she was, standing with bruises that littered her body.

"Good morning, Nessa." His voice was still groggy from sleep.

"Rudy, right?" He nodded. "It's nice to finally meet you. Drew speaks very highly of you." Nessa wasn't going to mention the fact she knew him from Outer Banks, that was probably a given.

"Same goes for you." He gave a welcoming smile, taking a seat at the table. To be honest, Drew didn't say much about her, but it would be rude and hurt her if he said anything else.

The girl turned her attention back towards the meal, cutting it into squares then plating them. "I made a breakfast cassarole, if you would like to try. I won't get offended if not." She chuckled at herself.

"Ah, come on, I would love to try some of it. Drew turned me into a big cassarole guy."

"You and me both, Rudy." The boy was suprised to see how joyous she seemed after last night's events.

Rudy took small bites, waiting for it to cool. The way it oozed all over his taste buds amazed him. He's never had something so simple, yet so grand for breakfast. "I'll be here as long as you keep cooking breakfast. Holy cow, this is divine."

"As long as Drew allows it. You are more than welcome to come over." Both turned around to the sound of Drew's deep chuckle.

"Maybe I want to keep her food for myself. Taste too much like home."

Nessa's eyes lit up with humor. "It was your mom and sisters who taught me everything." Her own mother was constantly pouring herself into work growing up, so the Starkey family spent many days watching her after school and on weekends, teaching her all the things to know about growing up.

"Like I said, home sweet home." Drew grabbed a plate, shoveling it into his mouth.

Nessa smiled at the thought of the Starkey home. Jodi , Brooke, Mackayla, Drew and Logan. They were the closest thing to family she had at the moment, but even then, she hasn't visited them in almost two years. "How are they doing, anyways?"

Drew swollowed his bite. "Good. Miss you as always." He noticed the flash of guilt in her eyes and he understood why she didn't go back. Most of it was because Aiden hadn't allowed her to leave the city, the other half shame. "But you know them, busy with thier lives, barely have time to even see me."

Nessa bowed her head, thankful for the lie. She knew he didn't want her to feel bad for not reaching out to them. She also knew that the family made time for anyone who visited. Drew always made the effort to see them every so often.

"So today, I was thinking we could go back and grab some more of your things."

Nessa sat there in thought. "Right now, I don't think it would be best for me to go back. I don't know when Aiden is coming home and it's just a lot to process that I actually left. I was thinking we could go look at apartments or something." Now it was Drew's turn to think. He understood what she was thinking but Nessa left so much behind.

Rudy butted in with an idea. "Why don't you get whatever she needs, Drew? Nessa and I could go look at apartments."

"Rudy, I know you wanted to get back to your place." Drew rebutdtaled.

"Please. I don't have any real plans today. Plus looking for living places is therapeutic. The amount of times I scroll through Zillow."

Nessa giggled at his comment. "Especially in Laguna Beach or the rich neighborhoods in Bel Air or Beverly Hills. At least that's where I look."

"I have never really looked at Laguna, but now I'm very I intrigued."

"You guys sound like a bunch of old lady's at bingo." Drew grinned at his two friends bonding.

"Don't knock it till you try it, Drew." Rudy teased his friend.

Deep down Rudy wanted to get to know Nessa and hopefully be friends enough to help her through this time. It's not like he was looking for a relationship. Especially not after Elaine. It's been six months and few rebounds, but somehow it still messed with his brain.

"Are you cool with that, Ness?"

She smiled. "No need to worry about me Drew. Plus I trust you know what to get." The girl tossed him his keys. "I should probably get changed. Do you guys mind cleaning the dishes, I got most of the hard stuff done." They nodded, dismissing her with a wave of the hand.

Nessa grabbed the small suitcase and headed to the bathroom. She settled on a black, thin strapped crop top and grey sweatpants, leaving her hair in a bun and then headed back out.

"Rudy! The staircase has a place for books." Nessa exclaimed. The pure excitement on her face made Rudy giggle.

"We looked at eight places only to settle on one because the staircase can hold books?"

"Not only that. It's close to the studio, not to far from Drew's. It's a loft which I wanted. Did I mention the staircase?"

He playfully rolled his eyes. The time he spent with her was wonderful. She told stories of Drew growing up and how she met him. Her brother Alex played a huge part in her life from what he could tell, but she grew quite after talking about him. "If you want it, let's go talk to the landlord."

Nessa grabbed his hand, dragging him out of the room. "Can you believe how perfect it is?" It took everything in Rudy to not mention the cracks in the paint or the way she'll have to get the plumbing checked. She was happy, and that was important to him. She deserved to be happy especially after last night and the years she probably put up with Aiden.

"Never in a million years. You want to know something?" The girl nodded. "My apartment complex is about two buildings over."

"You just wanted me closer to you. That's why you brought me here." Her smirk was evident, sly and playful.

"I knew they had apartments leasing. Don't flatter yourself."

Nessa began to playfully pout. "I should have known. I'm used to it by now. I'm a person of connivence. Never wanted. Never needed."

"Oh shut up." Rudy now led her to a more quote place to fill out the paperwork the landlord needed. "You're being over dramatic. Now hurry up. I'm kind of hungry."

"Did breakfast not fill you up?"

"That was hours ago. It's almost dinner time."

"What I'm hearing is you're a little whining baby. Does mommy need to feed you?" Her voice mocked him.

"I like my milk straight from the breast." Nessa's jaw dropped. "You walked into that one little miss Nessy."

Nessy. The girl's heart almost stopped in that exact moment. It's been years since she heard that name. Only Alex ever called her that. Rudy noticed the sudden stillness in her presence."Did I say something or make you uncomfortable?"

Her smile was soft and ever growing, filled with a hint of pain. "I haven't been called that in a very long time. Kinda nice." Nessa didn't have the heart to continue, silently thanking the boy when he decided to change the subject back to the paperwork.

After the shared quite time, she held the stack up. "Done." The two cheered bringing it to the elder man at the desk.

"Once we do a few more checks, you'll be able to move in by next week. Let's say Wednesday?"

"That's perfect." Her face beamed. "The sooner, the better."

"That's what we like to hear. You've made this process very easy Miss Buchanan. Thank you." With that, the two headed out to Rudy's car.

"Miss Buchanan, your chariot madam." Rudy opened the passenger door.

"Thank you, sir."

Rudy ran his hand through his blonde locks. "I asked for titty milk. It is the least I can do."

"You're such a goofball."

"I could be your goof ball."

She laughed a bit more as he ran around the car. "And a flirt, my god."

"I can be your flir-"

"Enough, Rudy." She clenched her side. The sudden jolts of laughter made the bruises hurt.

"I'm just glad you are smiling." He looked into her eyes. Nessa held a beauty and likeness to her. There was nothing Rudy could do to wrap his head around why anyone would ever want to hurt her.

"Can I tell you something that stays between us?" Nessa felt as if she was putting her neck on the line with Rudy, but part of felt at ease around him. They really clicked these past few hours.

"We're friends. Of course you can." Rudy began to place the car in reverse, reaching over to the back of her seat with his neck turned to view the window.

"I'm scared shitless. I never thought I would actually have a way out. I tried. I really did."

"Drew and I will always be here for you. Anything you need. I know I don't know you that well, but that offer will always be there."

Her eyes glossed over at his warm tone. "I guess with officially getting my own place and knowing how mad Aiden will be when he finds out, I guess I'm scared he'll find me." Nessa let her shoulders fall. "I was so dumb to stay for as long as long as I did."

"I won't lie to you. You let it go on too long. You should have left after the first time. But I can understand how difficult it is to leave at the first sign of trouble." Rudy sighed, thinking about him and Elaine's relationship. The nights she spent "out with friends" when he knew she was meeting up with some guy. He wanted to trust her with everything he had, but she broke the trust and all promises, time and time again.

"You sound like you've been through some shit." Her tone was attentive and caring, as if she was actually listening to him. For the first time he felt truly heard beyond just the words that flew out of his mouth.

"Different shit."

Nessa placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort. "Shit is still shit. Doesn't matter that size."

"Only you can make a conversation about poop into some inspirational, heart warming speech." A giggle erupted out of her once again.

"I try." Her mind wandered to dinner and what she was in the mood for. "I'm feeling Mexican, what about you, Rudy?"

"Finally a woman who knows what she wants. Mexican it shall be."

"I'm picky. Once I have my mind set on something, I won't have it any other way."

"I think you're just a brat." Nessa pulled her face back, biting her lower lip with a grin.

"Wouldn't you like to know." Rudy slowly realized he laughed more in this past day then he has in the past half year or so. He was enjoying the joy Nessa brought into his life despite the hard times.

"Touché, Nessy. Touché."

#chase stokes #outer banks cast #rudy pankow #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #pope heyward #outerbanks #outer banks x reader #outer banks imagines #drew starkey #madison bailey #madelyn cline #obx #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #obx smut #pankowfruitsnacks writing #pankowfruitsnacks free falling

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alphabet-blues · 3 years

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Here it is, chapter one of my baby, my magnum opus. This fic is going to be so long so I hope you guys are buckled up and ready. Each chapter also is accompanied by a literature/media excerpt and five song mini-mix as a YouTube playlist. - Venom

Read on Ao3

Title: drowning lessons

Pairing: Harley Keener/Peter Parker

Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland), and MCU

Chapter: One

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Angst, Depression, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Graphic Drug usage, Addiction, Graphic Usage of Opioids, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, brief mentions of forced prostitution, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, drug overdose, Graphic Depiction of a Drug Overdose, Getting Together, Fluff, Banter, The Euphoria Fic, Blowjobs, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drug Addict Harley, Aged-Up Harley Keener, Aged-Up Peter Parker, Drowning Lessons, Falling In Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags Are Hard, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Underage Drinking, Partying, Purchasing of Drugs, Harley's Nirvana Hoodie is a character

Summary: It all started with a house party and a bad idea, like most things in Harley’s life.

In which Harley takes pills, listens to Nirvana, and doesn't want to be alive anymore.

Falling for Peter is easier than breathing, and also the least of his problems.

(Also known as the Parkner Euphoria Fic)

Mini-Mix 1 for Chapter 1

The Pool Players. Seven at the Golden Shovel.

We real cool. We Left school. We

Lurk late. We Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We Die soon.

- Gwendolyn Brooks

It all started with a house party and a bad idea, like most things in Harley’s life.

He was 14, and it was his first party. Well, not his first party, but his first party with actual high schoolers that involved booze that wasn’t snuck out from a parent’s meticulous liquor cabinet. Harley though, didn’t have much of a taste for alcohol.

The smell of beer on people’s clothes was tainted by memories of his Father. He’d had his first beer when he was 10, given to him by his Uncle with strict orders not to tell his Mother. It was bitter, rancid, and burned as it went down and Harley couldn’t understand how people loved this stuff. Or how his Father had chosen this over their family.

The party was a little ways out from the main road and tucked behind a line of trees that led to a few rolling fields of corn. It was October, and there was a slight chill in the air. The corn had been combined at the end of summer, leaving a desecrated patch of land in its wake. By the time next summer rolled around, there would be stalks nearly as tall as Harley. He was fascinated by the cycle of it all.

Technically, there wasn’t supposed to be any freshman at the party, but he had weaseled an invite from his friend Joey’s older brother, Mike, as long as he followed his strict orders to “be cool.” Harley could do that.

When Harley made his way into the house he watched the different crowds of upperclassmen interact. Some were dancing to the loud thumping of the music playing from the speakers by the TV in the living room, while others were huddled into tight groups, either drinking, or passing a joint around. An ache settled inside Harley’s chest.

Harley committed to his role of being a wallflower and held back from all of the groups as he made his way through the house. He had sat on the couch for close to a half-hour when someone passed him a joint and told him to take a hit. Harley did, and was careful not to choke so he didn’t look green at his first-ever real party.

The joint in question got passed around their circle a few more times until someone put it out. At that point, Harley had taken several puffs and was starting to feel light-headed and fuzzy, but in a good way.

The ache in his chest morphed - it spread warmth over Harley’s ribs and clavicle, but it still burned.

Harley floated through the house afterwards, giggling at nothing, and took whatever was offered. He drank something bitter and sour that made him want to hurl before he was passed something sickly sweet but felt like acid as it washed down. When he finally stumbled out of the house he felt a happy buzz wash over him. He could barely feel the cold nip of the air, and goosebumps raised all up along his arms.

He found his bike where he had discarded it on the grass lawn when he arrived. It was hard to see in the dark, especially with his head swimming, but he managed to pull his bike onto the road. The wind of the night air blew through his shaggy overgrown hair as it fell in his eyes. He biked down the eerily quiet streets of his hometown as the persistent aching in his chest eventually subsided, for the first time since it had arrived. No one was around, and his ears were filled with static due to the lack of sound - a sharp contrast from the thudding bass of the party.

He fell off his bike twice before he got home, and winced as his elbow got scratched up from the gravel. But instead of being frightened, he was elated, he couldn't really feel it. He snuck back into his room through the window he kept unlocked for that exact purpose, and made sure to be as quiet as possible, even though the motor functions in his hand were failing him and it took him multiple tries to get his window up.

He changed his clothes, noting how they smelled, and buried them deep into the bottom of his hamper so his Mom wouldn’t get suspicious. When he finally collapsed onto his bed he felt sated. He was warm, and the rocking of his bed from his head spinning as he closed his eyes lulled him to sleep.

It was probably the best sleep he’d gotten in years.

That was the start, but it wasn’t the beginning.

The beginning was not quite a year later, at the start of summer break. He was invited to a pool party by Mike’s friends. As soon as the sun went down they all changed out of their bathing suits and into t-shirts, and shorts. They relocated to Maddy’s basement - the girl who had been throwing the party. Harley was expecting the alcohol, and the weed. He’d gotten used to it by now, and even knew how to roll one of the best joints in town. He kept a stash in a sealed bag buried deep inside his nightstand that he would pull out and smoke in the backyard by the shed whenever things got overwhelming. Or, for when that well-known emptiness crept into his veins, that instead of making him angry, just made him sad, and desolate.

He was used to the weed, but the pills were something new. He was halfway through a joint that he had matched with a girl he vaguely recognized. She had introduced herself as “Tasha” when one of Mike’s friends stumbled over and sat down next to him. Harley passed the joint over to Tasha. His head was swimming pleasantly, and he grinned over at the guy who he was pretty sure was named Toby.

“Look what Jessica’s sister brought,” Toby said excitedly as he held up a baggy with a bunch of tiny perfectly round blue pills. “She’s like the fucking tooth fairy, I swear to God,” He crowed as he handed a pill to Harley and one to Tasha. Tasha glanced over at Harley nervously, and Harley didn’t say anything until Toby left, probably to go distribute the pills to the other partygoers.

Harley looked down at the pill he had clutched in his palm. It had a ‘5’ etched big in the center, with a smaller ‘325’ carved under it. Harley recognized the pills from health class. It was percocet.

Tasha finished the joint and then stubbed it out on a spare plate that everyone had been using as a makeshift ashtray. “I’m gonna go see what Josh is up to,” She told Harley in a small voice before handing him the pill she had been given. “I’m good with just weed.”

Harley nodded dumbly as he watched her scamper off. He took in the scene of the party going on around him as he stared at the now two pills in his hand. It felt like an old cartoon where there was an angel and devil sitting on his shoulder arguing over what he should do. He stared at it for entirely too long before he said, “Fuck it,” and swallowed one down dry. He tucked the other one into his weed grinder for safekeeping, figuring that even if he hated how it made him feel he could probably sell it to someone at school for a couple of dollars.

The next twenty minutes passed slowly as he waited anxiously for it to kick in, to see how it would feel. He didn’t feel anything for the first while and was gonna accuse Jessica’s sister of being an idiot and buying counterfeit pills when it started washing over him in waves. He went out to the back deck where the pool was, and where it was relatively empty. He sat down on the edge as his eyes went half-massed, and the ribbons of euphoria made their way through his bloodstream.

For a blissful while he didn’t feel anything. Nothing at all. He laid out flat, head facing the water, and started swirling circles in it with his pointer finger. He watched for what felt like hours as his finger caused ripples in the pool.

It wasn’t until later, much later, when Joey was helping him into his house quietly, because he was too fucked up to stand, that he pulled the grinder out of his pocket. He opened it once Joey had gone home and looked at the little pill inside of it. Harley didn’t understand alcohol, but he understood this. He would do anything to feel nothing again.

It wasn’t an all-or-nothing type beat, at least in the beginning. It was more gradual. As the low simmer of Harley’s misery built so did his coping mechanisms. It wasn’t until right after he turned 16 that he was sneaking out to parties every single weekend, coming back high, drunk, or sometimes something worse.

He bought from Jessica’s sister for a while until she left town. Then, he bounced around various dealers getting wildly different qualities. He tried a little bit of everything, and never turned down a pill if it was offered. He passed out in so many different basements he lost track. He could tell that his Mom was catching on to his worsening attitude and sunken eyes. Hell, even he had noticed the weight he had lost and how he was able to count most of his ribs without sucking in anymore. None of that mattered. All that mattered was how he could get rid of the emptiness inside of him, even if it was just for a night, or however long the drugs in his system lasted.

He got a job bagging groceries at the mini-mart downtown. Most of the people that he worked with were college burnouts who sold and did drugs whenever they weren’t showing up for a shift. He bought baggies of pills in the parking lot whenever he got off work with the money he made from his minimum wage. He knew that he couldn’t keep up the delicate balance forever, and eventually there would be a tipping of the scales.

It was a month before his 17th birthday when he ran out of money.

He needed a fix so bad that his hands were shaking and he could barely see straight. He had nearly crashed his bike 10 times on his way over to Tyler’s apartment. He wasn’t the best of dudes, but his shit was always pure, and Harley knew he could deliver.

Once Harley climbed up the steps he walked along the railing until he got to the door that led to Tyler’s apartment. He rang the doorbell as he fidgeted with his hoodie and dug his fingers into his palm so hard he nearly drew blood. When Tyler opened the door he followed him inside, chewing on his lip.

Tyler went back to his room as Harley waited anxiously in the foyer. He didn’t have any money, and he didn’t know what he was going to do. All he knew was that he needed another pill. He needed everything to stop. He bit his thumb as he waited for Tyler to come back out. After a few tense moments, Tyler came back out with a baggy full of familiar pills. He sat them down on the coffee table and glanced at Harley expectantly.

“I can pay you back next Friday. That’s when I get paid,” Harley told him, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

Tyler sucked on his teeth and grabbed the pills back up, before Harley had a chance to reach for them. “You still owe me for last time.”

Harley’s stomach dropped. “Right. I know that. Just- ... I can pay you back next week.”

Tyler shook his head. “And what’s in it for me?”

Harley’s eyes widened as he took in the setting of what was going on. “W-what do you mean?”

Tyler shrugged. “How bad do you want ‘em, kid?”

Harley bristled, and brought the sleeves of his hoodie down to hide his hands. He wanted to hide from the situation completely, but knew he’d be right back here tomorrow if he didn’t leave with the pills that he needed. “What do you want?”

“I heard you gave Colson head at the bonfire party a few months ago,” Tyler said, as Harley’s face burned. “You any good?”

Harley counted to 10 in his head. He thought about a lot of things in the time it took for him to count. He thought about his Mom, his Dad, and his sister. He thought about his one English teacher from the previous year who always had an absurd amount of faith in him and told him that he was capable of great things if he just put his mind to it. He thought briefly about Tony and his billions of dollars while here he was broke as shit and questioning his morals. He thought about Colson, who he’d had a crush on for a couple of months, who let him blow him at a party and then told him afterwards that he wasn’t gay, and that they probably shouldn’t do it again. Lastly, he thought about how shaky his hands were and how all of this would be over as soon as he got his hand on the pills. There were five in the baggy. If he paced himself he could last until next Friday when he got paid and he would never have to do this again.

With that resolve in mind, he closed his eyes and dropped to his knees.

| | |

When he left Tyler’s apartment he couldn’t stop wiping at his mouth, and how it felt dirty and raw. He got halfway down the street before he let his bike fall to the ground and bent over to wretch into the grass on the side of the road. He didn’t have much in his system so it was mostly just bile, but anything, literally anything, was better than the lingering taste of Tyler’s cum in his mouth that only served to remind him what he had let him do.

Once he gathered his wits back up, he was able to make it to the 7-Eleven that was only a few blocks away from his house. He parked his bike in the bike rack outside half in a daze, feeling like he was no longer inside his body. He went into the bathroom with his hood up, and made sure nobody else was inside. He wiped down the edge of the sink with soap, and dried it meticulously with the thin paper towels from the machine. He took one of the pills out of the baggie and smashed it until it was basically powder. He spread it with his finger into a line on the edge of the sink and snorted all of it in one go.

As soon as he did he felt the immediate head rush and stinging pain in his nasal cavity that made his eyes burn and well up with tears. He grabbed onto the sink for dear life as he took several deep breaths. He looked up and finally made eye contact with himself in the mirror. His hair was a messy tangle, and greasy, on top of his head. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was red, as well as his mouth, which looked rubbed raw. In a certain light, it could have been enticing, but Harley knew that he just really looked wrung out.

He glared at his reflection in the mirror until someone else walked into the bathroom. Harley froze in place and waited till the guy took his position at one of the far down urinals. “Whatever,” he whispered to his reflection as he turned around and left the bathroom, wiping at his nose with the bottom of his hoodie sleeve. The moment he reached his bike he felt it start to kick in and he breathed out a sigh of relief as the telltale rush he had gotten used to spread from his head down his shoulders, all the way to his toes as his chest flooded with warmth.

He just had to make it until next Friday, and then everything was going to be okay.

| | |

The thing was, Harley was a pretty angry person. He wasn’t angry all the time, but the slightest thing could set him off. He had a temper like his Dad, and it was always hard to stop himself from doing something rash, or impulsive. His Mom liked to say that he thought with his fists before his head. His anger was more like a low simmer, on a backburner constantly until something set him off and he snapped. It had only gotten worse since he started the pills, but so had everything in his life. He knew he had a problem, but that didn’t mean he wanted to stop.

Harley had been getting into fights at school for almost as long as he could remember. There was a day in elementary school where he had to wait outside the principal's office with a split lip and torn-up knuckles. He could hear his Mom crying through the door, he could hear her saying how tough it had been since Harley’s Dad had left and it made him feel awful. But, it also kind of just made him want to punch stuff more.

Kids at school were mean, but all kids who are growing are mean, and seem to have endless bouts of nasty shit to say. They picked on Harley because he was weird, and nerdy, and his Dad had left. There wasn’t even a divorce like some of the other kids in his class. He didn’t have elusive tales of two Christmases, or weekends at his Dad’s - all he eventually got was Tony Stark showing up in his garage when he was 9, before he fucked off just like everybody else. Sure, he had decked out his garage, but that didn’t mean much. Tony was a fucking billionaire, it was probably the equivalent of him giving a homeless kid on the street a 5 dollar bill.

Harley got better at learning how to deal with his anger. He also got better at not getting punched, and throwing his own. He learned how to hide bloody knuckles, or bloody noses, and only got pulled into the office a handful of times. They made him go to the school counselor and she said it was a coping mechanism; that the violence was a way for him to act out and ask for attention. Harley thought she was mostly a quack who didn’t actually give a shit about the kids she was supposed to be helping. The fighting had been self-defense, but the pills? He could admit that those were probably the coping mechanism.

Harley thought about his school counselor as he locked the door to his room and threw the baggy of pills that he had worked so hard for into his nightstand, under a pile of books he was supposed to be reading for class and knew he never would. He wondered what she would think of him now, or what he had done. He laughed mirthlessly at the picture of her horrified face as he told her that the school system had failed him, just like his Dad, and just like everybody fucking else.

Despite everything, his grades were good. Harley was smart. He knew he was smart, and that was half of his problem. He stopped having to try in school after the second week of 6th grade. He always showed up, and always finished his work though, even if he was working on his projects high out of his fucking mind. He usually wrote his best papers that way.

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, he thought about his Dad. He thought about what his Dad would say to him and his pills. Maybe an outsider would draw parallels to him and his Father, from one addict to another. He wasn’t anything like his Father, though. Yeah, Harley had a problem, but he was still here, still doing the shit he was supposed to be doing. He was still a functioning member of society as far as he was concerned and hadn’t ran away as soon as things had gotten tough. His Father was a coward and that’s all he’d ever be.

Sometimes though, sometimes, in the dead of night when he was shaking and sweating from either a comedown, or withdrawal, he would try to discern if his Dad would be sad, if he even gave a shit at all. He wondered if he would be disappointed.

Whenever those thoughts took hold he would just text one of his friends to see if a party was going on, and there usually was. He’d smoke a joint, or take a pill that was offered and suddenly he’d forget all about the thoughts that had previously been consuming him.

But the thing about all of his anger is that he would gladly take it over the sadness. There was a hole inside of him. He wasn’t quite sure when it formed, but it was there. It threatened to consume him whole on nights he was alone and could only stare at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom. The only time when he didn’t feel empty was when he had some chemical pumping through his veins. So that became his thing.

He couldn’t ignore though, how it was hurting everyone he loved. Abbie and his Mom never said anything, but sometimes it was like they knew. They would give him a look with their sad eyes like they wanted to help him, like they somehow had the capability to heal him. When he came home on certain nights, pupils blown and speech slurred, his Mom would look at him like he was his Father.

Maybe he was slowly becoming his Father.

Either way, it hurt, and he couldn’t stop. The only thing that didn’t hurt anymore was the dizzying rush he got whenever he snorted the pills that he had come to love so much.

There was one night that Harley could remember. He had slammed his bike on the front porch a little hard, and had made a little too much noise coming in through the window of his bedroom. He was high as shit and the world was thick, but buzzing around him. He changed out of his jeans into an undershirt, his hands fumbling and not working right, like they were no longer connected to his brain. When he finally finished his task he stumbled out into the hallway to go to the bathroom before he could pass out for school in the morning.

As soon as he got to the door of the bathroom he could hear his Mom talking in the living room, and he froze. Her voice was muffled, but he could still make out what she was saying. It sounded like she was on the phone with someone, which wouldn’t be an unusual occurrence for her, especially at this time of the night. It always made Harley smile whenever he would come home and she would be gabbing excitedly with one of her girlfriends, or spilling town gossip. This time, however, Harley could tell she wasn’t chatting with her friends.

“He’s just been so withdrawn. I know he sneaks out of the house almost every night and I don’t know if I should let him have his freedom or be concerned.” Harley heard her say, her voice sapped, and weary. “He’s so bright. You know that. I’m worried that’s going to be what gets him.” She paused for a while, so someone else on the phone must have said something. Harley took that time to let his head fall against the door of the bathroom.

Harley had a feeling the conversation was about him and it made him sick. His fuzzy brain was taking in all the words she was saying and knew that he didn’t want her to feel that way. He didn’t want her to worry. But he also couldn’t stop. His brain was whirring all the time and the only thing that ever gave him peace; a fucking reprieve, stopped the voice in his head - the one that sounded like his Father, the one that told him he was a waste of space, that he was nothing - were the pills that he took, or snorted, whichever was easier, or quicker, really. At least when he was high he was a good nothing.

“No, I know. And he’s so good sometimes. He’ll be happy and chatty, and he’s always been so good with Abbie...it could just be a teenager thing. Sometimes I’m just at a loss. I know he needs something, but I don’t know what that is.”

The world to stop turning, Harley thought, with a sudden flash of vengeance. If there was one thing he could write on his Christmas list it would be for the world to stop turning, and for him to stop breathing. But that would definitely cause his Mom more concern and he didn’t want that.

He didn’t want to listen to the conversation anymore, so he made sure to open the bathroom door obviously, and took a few stomping steps inside, hitting his hand on the counter in the process, that way she would be alerted to his presence in the hallway.

He couldn’t make out her voice after that.

Harley stared at his face in the mirror. He took in his red eyes, pupils swallowing his irises, skin pale and sickly. At one point he might have been something to look at, with sweeping blonde hair, and a crooked grin that his Mom used to always pinch and say was her favorite.

He didn’t look like that anymore.

He didn’t even look like himself anymore. His outside finally matched his inside - a hollow shell of someone pretending to be a person.

When he got out of the bathroom his Mom was no longer on the phone, and he couldn’t pretend to be anything other than absolutely exhausted, so he shuffled into his room and fell back onto his bed. He played the words she had said on the phone call over and over again in his head until he fell asleep.

| | |

Harley was smart, brilliant, actually, that was the thing. School was a breeze, but he knew that even though he kept his grades up, every time he snuck back in through his bedroom window his Mom was disappointed in him. He knew that she had no idea what he was doing, but she also wasn’t stupid, and somehow knew he was close to doing something that would throw his life away.

If only she knew that this was the only way he could keep on living. If only she knew he probably would have slit his wrists in the bathroom if those tiny little blue pills hadn’t kept him company, and drove away all the malicious clawing thoughts that flickered through his brain constantly.

Harley had an affinity for building things. He also had an affinity for hacking, which would have been worrisome if he wasn’t good enough to hardly ever get caught. After he burned his bridges with Tyler he started exploring his other options. Hacking into the local hospital’s database was so easy it was almost laughable.

He quickly learned it was going to be a dead-end because they kept all their opioids in a Pill-O-Matix which was an automatic drug dispenser that used doctors’ credentials to unlock it. Even if Harley could somehow bypass it he would have to disable the security cams, and it wasn’t something he could do on a regular basis. It wasn’t worth it.

After that, he did some digging into his local pharmacy, but that was mostly a dead end as well. Their computer systems were out of date, but most of their pill tracking was manual, as it was a tiny small-town pharmacy. If any of their opioids went missing they would surely be noticed.

So Harley started bouncing around dealers again. He knew it was dangerous. But the hole inside of him was just as, if not more dangerous, so he knew what he had to do. He got shitty pills from freshmen with older siblings that dealt; who didn’t know the worth of what they were selling. On one occasion he got a set of pills of oxy that were cut with speed that made his heart race and he felt like he was having a low-grade heart attack for hours.

He didn’t want to be this way - a junkie. But he found something that worked when nothing else had. He could feel himself getting worse and worse and knew rock bottom was just around the corner. But he couldn’t stop. He didn’t know if it was a sick desire to actually hit rock bottom and to see what that felt like, or if his own self-control had finally waned to a point of no return.

It all came to a head a week before his high school graduation.

Graduation parties were popping up all over the place, and Harley wasn’t about to miss any of them. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see his friends (friends that he could barely even call friends anymore because he didn’t really talk to anyone who wasn’t going to eventually sell him drugs).

It wasn’t even that he wanted to have a nostalgic cry fest with all the people who had tortured him his entire adolescence. He just wanted to get as smashed as possible so he could forget everything. Then he wouldn’t have to think about college, which he couldn’t afford, or all of the stress that came with being on the cusp of adulthood.

He could tell that something was off as soon as he took the first pill. He got high quicker than usual, and he also felt higher than what was normal. He relished the buzz, every second of it, and used his impairment as an excuse as to why he took another one, and another one once it was offered. He was never one to turn down free drugs. By the time the third one kicked in he could barely walk outside. He must have fallen on the grass lawn because one minute he was looking at the driveway that led to the house, and the next minute he was blinking up at the night sky.

He didn’t even realize that he was puking until someone was rolling him over with a bruising grip on his arms and back. The bile that had been clogging his throat rose and fell out of his mouth as he heaved and heaved. He puked into the grass for what felt like ages until he tried to focus his eyes and could only make out a vague blob of a person standing over him.

“Fuck, Harley,” he could hear the voice saying, but it was distant. It sounded like they were crying, but he couldn’t figure out why they would be crying. Harley opened his mouth to speak but when he did he only choked on bile once again until he was forced to spit it out in the grass.

A loud ringing was in his ears and all the talking he could hear was muffled and unintelligible. He started shivering violently and couldn’t stop. The hand that was holding him reached for something in the pocket of his jeans but Harley could barely feel it. He came back to himself enough to glance over with glassy eyes and recognized the person as Joey. Fuck. He shouldn’t be seeing him like this.

Joey had a phone pressed to his ear, and Harley tried to piece all the details together to figure out what was going on but it was hard to think. All he could feel was the sudden pounding in his head and how his whole body ached in a way that made him feel like he had just been run over by a semi.

It could’ve been hours later, or only a few minutes, time was passing weird for Harley. But suddenly he was seeing his Mom. She was pale as a ghost as her face floated in front of him, blocking his view of the night sky. “Mom?” Harley said, not quite believing what was in front of him. Just saying those words scratched against his raw throat and suddenly Harley was so, so tired. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up.

“Harley, baby.” His Mom said, her cool hands pressed against his face. He was burning up. When did that happen? “What did you take? We need to know what you took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Harley mumbled out, his words barely coming out as sounds or words. His Mom must have understood because her face turned thunderous.

“What did you take!” She yelled, her voice turning shrill as she screamed. Harley winced and his eyes fell shut until someone was shaking him, causing him to blearily open his eyes again. His Mom and Joey were like little pale-faced moons over his head as he could hardly make out the details of their faces, or why they were looking at him like that, or why they were so concerned. Couldn’t Harley just go to sleep?

“...hospital,” He heard his Mom say distantly. Then jerkily he was being pulled up by two pairs of hands until he was upright. The movement jostled him and his head fell back painfully like a rag doll. The sudden motion caused him to start puking again, and he bent over and heaved on an empty stomach which only made his throat feel like it had been hacked at with razor blades. Every inch of his body hurt.

He didn’t realize he had been put into a car until he was laying in the backseat while Joey held his head, probably to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit again. This was one of his worst nightmares. He could hardly think but suddenly he was stuck in a spiral of guilt so strong that it choked him even further. He could taste the bile he had been throwing up all over his mouth and tongue, and could hear his Mom crying from the front seat.

He was so sorry.

Nobody should be seeing him like this. All he wanted was to go home and pretend like none of this was even happening.

“I’m sorry,” Harley said, even though it was hard for him to talk. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to his Mom, Joey, or possibly both. “I’m sorry,” he kept saying in between the tears that were rolling down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

That was the last thing he remembered before he fell asleep.

| | |

When Harley woke up he was in a brightly lit hospital, and was lying in a bed. He had various wires hooked to his arms and he felt like death warmed over. Once he was able to blink through the blinding lights and focus on the room he noticed Abbie and Mom, both sound asleep in their own respective guest chairs. A lump formed in his throat as it settled in his bones what had happened.

| | |

After his Mom woke up they fought for what felt like hours. Eventually, it led to her crying as she said she didn’t know what to do. The pills Harley had taken at the party had been laced with fentanyl, and they had caused him to OD. The doctors had told her that he showed signs of having a long-term opioid addiction and would have to go through detox before he would be released. Harley had denied it vehemently until his Mom had told him to cut the bullshit.

In the time that it had taken him to recover he had missed graduation, and hadn’t been able to walk across the stage like the rest of his classmates. Harley pretended that it didn’t sting.

It was clear that his Mother didn’t know what to do with him, and Harley didn’t know what hurt worse, the fact that she looked at him differently now, or the fact that he had hurt her so deeply. It wasn’t until he went through the detox with gritted teeth and false promises that he would stay clean that he knew nobody really believed, that he was able to go home.

When Harley got to his room, he stopped short in the doorway and stared. All of his stuff had been packed up into bags that were sitting on his bed. He turned to look at his Mom, who was only a few feet behind him, with betrayal and fear. Was she kicking him out?

Instead of answering him right away, her eyes trained on a picture that was hung up in the hallway, just a little ways down from the entryway to Harley’s bedroom. It was a baby picture of him. His blonde hair was platinum then, but still tangled at the top of his head like a bird's nest, and he had a wide smile on his face that was completely toothless and all gums. He could see the tears welling in his Mom’s eyes as she turned back to face him.

“When you first mentioned that you wanted to take a gap year I got in touch with Tony. He gave me his number years ago and said to call if we ever needed him. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if the number was still going to work. I thought it might do you good to go and see him.” Her voice trembled then, “Lord knows he has more resources than I do.” A tear trickled down her cheek, but she continued. “I know you’re not happy here, baby. You haven’t been happy for a while, and I don’t...I don’t know what to do.”

Harley tried to let her words sink in, but they weren’t making any sense. “Since when does Tony give a shit about me?”

“Oh sweetie,” His Mom said, eyes sad. “He’s always been keeping tabs on you. He wants what’s best for you.” She seemed to gather herself together then, and her voice was less wobbly when she said, “I think a change of scenery will do you good. You have a flight to New York tomorrow morning, so you should probably get some rest.”

Harley balled his hands into fists at his sides and glared at the bags that had been packed for him. He was a problem who was being shipped off to New York because his Mom no longer knew how to handle him. He wasn’t sure what Tony fucking Stark was going to be able to do for him. The fact that he had been keeping up with Harley and how he was doing hit him as a shock because he genuinely thought that the man had forgotten about him, or at least, didn’t care for him anymore. He didn’t know how to handle the information that not only did Tony in fact care about him, but cared about him enough to open his home to him and want to help him.

“And what if I don’t want to go to New York?” Harley tested, because he always had to push.

His Mom only pursed her lips sadly. “It’s not negotiable.” She closed his door then, he guessed to give him a semblance of privacy. Not like it mattered, he was sure his room had been cleaned of all his stashes, and all his shit was packed up anyway.

Harley punched his pillow repeatedly, and screamed into it a few times before he ended up curled up in his bed and staring unblinkingly at the wall. If he was miserable in Tennessee he doubted New York was going to be much better.

Thanks for reading! This fic means so much to me and I can’t wait to hear the response to it, and post more :)

#Parkner #Drowning Lessons #Fic #Chapter One #Parkner Euphoria Fic #Graphic Drug Usage #Harley Keener #Peter Parker #Keenker #Parley #Harley/Peter #Harley Keener/Peter Parker

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peaamlipoetrydoctor · 2 years

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From Yeats "The Second Coming" -

Things Fall Apart, The Centre Cannot Hold; Mere Anarchy Is Loosed Upon The World...

First of all, Happy New UK Tax Year, to those who celebrate ;)

A lurch into gloomy surrealism today... The prompt has been to write what I have been loftily referring to as a "reverse Golden Shovel" (after the form created by Terrance Hayes to honour Gwendolyn Brooks) but which was more pragmatically described in the prompt as a sort of acrostic but using full words at the start, not letters.

We were asked to find a quote - favorite poem, headline, whatever - and then write a poem where the quote supplied the first word (and also, therefore, dictated the length of the poem, as well).

Giving in to the ever-present gloominess of the news cycle, I've chosen that part of Yeats's poem, The Second Coming, which leads up to the famous quote, "The best lack all conviction while the worst are full of passionate intensity".

This seemed like a sentiment for the season, though I was to say the least deflated to read about Yeats's later approval for aspects of the rise of fascism. Fascism is definitely NOT something I think we could do with seeing more of. UGH.

Hashtag: this-is-a-poetic-angst-dream-not-any-kind-of-endorsement-of-a-vision-of-authoritarianism-reaching-down-into-chaos-to-save-us.

Anyway FWW, here's the poem...

The news is howling –

Blood – drips from the rose.

Dimmed, the sun ambles listlessly.

Tide pauses, turning from constancy.

Is this the end, how we end, we end?

Loosed from orbit, we hurtle away.

And all that awaits is Cold-Dark.

Everywhere, life drip-freezing.

The last tree is a statue.

Ceremony ceases.

Of course.

Innocence sleeps under stardust.

Is this the start?

Drowned coral worlds.

The epoch of cell-meets-cell.

Best billion years we ever spent.

Lack land, legs, oxygen – not life.

All our futures and pasts colliding.

Conviction engineered us to a stop,

while other worlds lured our gaze.

The billionaires played trainsets.

Worst fifteen minutes of fame.

Are we cheering, clapping?

Full circle, hell and heaven meet.

Of course, we rise – glow – fade.

Passionate insistence drives us.

Intensity converting to entropy.

#napowrimo #poetry #poetic

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bennomartens · 2 years

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Friday Five Post

(image via)

Here’s five things I thought were interesting recently. Maybe you will too.

I wrote on Wednesday about starting to read Pete Davis’s book, Dedicated, and the ideas he sets forth in first section about Liquid Modernity and Infinite Browsing Mode. As could probably be expected, I then started to come across all sorts of things related to these ideas in my reading and everyday life. For that reason, a few of the things I link to this week are going to seem like riffs on the theme, but I think that’s kind of the point of paying attention to things, don’t you?

This long read from Arthur C. Brooks about satisfaction and the human brain’s preprogramming for the hedonic treadmill over at The Atlantic is well worth checking out in its entirety. It helps to give more detail to Davis’s explanation for why we engage in Infinite Browsing Mode, Wendell Berry’s distrust of the future, and why committing to things is actually problematic from a biological standpoint.

The long and short of it comes down to how we derive meaning in our lives. Is it through intrinsic or extrinsic means? I know that too often I’ve struggled with this, as I’m sure just about every other human to walk the planet has.

After last week’s Snowmageddon, I really identified with this image above. We got somewhere between 10 and 13 inches where I live, though because of the high winds and drifting, the snow came up to my knee in some areas of my driveway while I was out shoveling. I’m ready for winter to be over, but there are still 37 days of it left - and here in northeast Ohio, the winter-like weather isn’t likely to disappear on the equinox. And a related thought: don’t wish the days away waiting for spring.

Working in small towns and rural communities, I’ve come to appreciate a good, walkable main street. Maybe it’s some weird form of American-1950s-good-old-days-nostalgia, but every time I find myself in one of these place, I can’t help but very pointedly think to myself, “I’d love to live in a place like this.” My life has pretty exclusively been lived in urban and suburban neighborhoods, so I’m not sure where that comes from.

The thing is, main street areas like that are usually the result of some very careful planning and, often, a big middle finger to engineers working for state departments of transportation, as this article from Strong Towns points out.

As the author says, “Small cities and towns everywhere should be thinking about what they can do to calm traffic and reclaim street life for people outside of cars. I don’t recommend that they get rid of cars, because people still need to get to these destinations. But making the downtown pleasant for walking and biking, and hanging out, will help the community to thrive both economically and socially. In this era of climate change, we need more walkable places.”

He continues, “It is time for a renewed effort to break down the opposition at state DOTs and implement more balanced mobility in the hearts of cities and towns across America.”

To which I would like to shout a hearty, AMEN!”

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions as a rule, but I do make a point of choosing 1-3 areas of my life that I would like to pay more attention to or get moving in a new direction every year when the ball drops. Last year it had to with my career, and that ended up with me in a new job, so it kind of worked to perfection.

This year I chose to focus on starting a writing practice once again (sort of the reason I’m here writing this right now) and on improving my overall physical health. Basically since college ended, I’ve worked in one office after another or been in grad school, and the typical American sedentary lifestyle put down some deep roots. It pains me to say that at age 41, I’m close to being in the worst shape of my life, and I only wish I had done something about it sooner.

But the past is the past, onward and upward, etc, etc, etc. My focus has been on my diet, my sleep schedule, and introducing daily activity into my schedule. So far, it’s actually working pretty well. I’ve lost weight, I’m sleeping better, and I’ve been working out (though “working out” might be overstating things a bit, it’s more like flailing around and cursing at myself in ever more imaginative ways).

The weather here hasn’t been great, as I mentioned, which has made getting out for a daily walk during my lunch break less-than attractive. But when things start to turn and I can get consistent with it, I’ve got a plan of attack thanks to this article I stumbled upon, which outlines the 1980s fad of walking with small weights in your hands. I got my walking weights this week, so I’m dead serious about this.

Thanks for reading this week here at The Edge of America. Hope you have a great weekend!

#friday five

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skybiome · 3 years

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And when the sun comes up, you’ll find a brand new god.

Chapter 5

Beginning | Previous | Next

ao3

tw: none

Techno and Phil worked together over the next few days to clean and preserve all of the venison. Phil seemed to have more experience with this, so Techno followed his lead. Techno was cutting the remaining meat from the bones and while Phil started a fire in their impromptu smoking pit. The skin has all been removed in the days prior.

Between just the two of them, a fair amount of the meat would go to waste, so they had to work quickly to preserve it. Inside, the hearth was burning low and drying thin cut pieces into jerky.

The temperature outside had been dropping over the days since their hunt. Phil had given Techno a winter coat from somewhere. Lined with some sort of soft animal fur, Techno barely noticed the cold.

Techno walked over to where his companion was poking at the smoking wood chips.

“Phil.”

“Hm?” The winged god looked up at him.

Techno fisted his hands in the pockets of the coat to keep himself from fidgeting. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Phil’s eyes widened in mild surprise. “Oh, alright then.” He didn’t sound upset. “We’ll finish this today then, and we can make you a good meal tonight before you hit the road.”

Techno nodded and walked away without another word. The anxious energy under his skin didn’t settle Phil’s acknowledgement. The feeling of being tethering to something was insurmountably foreign. He couldn't wait to get away from Phil, but at the same time, he would miss the man deeply. It had been millenia since Techno had let himself get this close to someone.

Better to drain the wound now than let it sit and fester.

But that would be an issue for tomorrow Techno.

He got to work harvesting the garden they’d planted a few days ago, washing the dirt off the produce in the stone-bottomed brook. Once the meat was settled to preserve both inside and out of the inn, Phil disappeared to somewhere. Techno assumed he’d be back before long.

So he did that hard work first, using a shovel Phil had provided to dig up the root vegetables out of the cold ground. He also gathered other fruits and vegetables from the trellises. Once that was done, he picked them up and set them on one of the tables inside the inn.

And then he didn’t know what to do.

Techno had never had free time. He was always preoccupied with keeping on the move or hunting down the next monster he’d taken a bounty on. Even here, Phil normally had a task for him to do. Whenever all the chores for the day were over, it was already night time. Not knowing what else to do, Techno started running laps around the inn, falling into the steady rhythm of the motions.

After a few laps he expanded his loop to include the other buildings surrounding the central well. And then to just running around all of the structures in the village. Never once did he see another person or even any lights on. Just perfectly tended gardens, even in the almost freezing weather.

Eventually, the monster hunter slowed down and approached one of the still houses. He knocked on the back door. No response. He tried the handle, and Techno was a little surprised when it opened with no resistance.

Inside sat a picturesque little home. Well made cupboards and countertops were spotless. An unlit tallow candle sat in the middle of a table. Techno took a closer look, and saw that the wick was pristine. It had never been lit. The table surface was unmarred, not showing any signs of being used as a board for cutting food or even any marks of a child playing with their first dagger.

Techno left, and checked the next house. And the next. And the next.

Every house was empty. Each one had a slightly different layout, but it was always unmarked countertops and empty cupboards. He doubted that these houses had ever been lived in. They were just part of the setting of the fictional town Phil had created.

He stopped checking the houses and went back to running circles around the empty village, leaving him along with his thoughts.

Phil didn’t seem malicious. Over the two weeks he’d known the deity, he’d never shown any ill intent. The outburst during the hunt was the first time he’d heard Phil even raise his voice. The god wasn’t gaining anything from spending time with Techno, but he also wasn’t trying to get anything out of the interaction. The cursed man couldn’t figure out what the god’s game was.

He was pulled out of his own head by the sound of Phil yelling his name. Cutting through the dirt paths, Techno made a bee-line towards the inn. Phil was standing outside the building, hands cupped around his mouth trying to project his voice. His wings were fluffed up and slightly spread slightly, like he was anxious and ready to take off at a moment’s notice. His voice was laced with worry.

Once he saw the monster hunter approaching, his wings laid flat and folded nearly behind his back. The line of tension eased out of his shoulders and the slightly frantic expression eased from his face.

“There you are.”

The ‘where’d you go?’ was left unspoken.

Techno nodded, and put his hands in the pockets of his new coat. “You left and I got bored, so I went on a run.” Techno one hand out and made a circular motion in the air, gesturing at the town around them. “Just around the outside of the village.”

Phil nodded, “Alright, I was worried that you had left.”

Techno shrugged. “I don’t know if I can leave, Wilbur may be keeping me here.”

The winged man stiffened slightly at the wandering implication of Techno’s words. He tried to brush it off, and replied, “I don’t think so, I’m fairly certain you can leave whenever you want.”

So he could leave right now if he wanted to. Phil would protest, but he wouldn’t be able to stop the monster hunter. Techno filed that away for later. Then he walked past Phil and turned the handle of the inn door. Holding the entrance open, he looked back at his friend, and asked, “You coming?”

When Phil didn’t spring into action, he added, “I don’t know how to cook, so I hope you do.”

With that, Techno turned away from Phil and walked farther into the building, leaving the door open behind him. A smile stumbled onto the god’s face. He walked inside and closed the door behind him, accepting Techno’s unspoken ask for help.

---

In the monster hunter’s humble opinion, Phil was a pretty good cook. The finished jerky and smoked meat was stored in cloth bags that Phil had pulled from somewhere, and the rest of the deer was slowly being cooked over the lower fire. Techno had been eating well for the last few weeks and he couldn’t wait to dig in when it was ready.

The cursed man had been put in charge with the rest of the meal preparation (with Phil helping if he needed it). Several spuds were slowly cooking in a pan off to the side of the stone hearth along with several herbs Phil had thrown in.

A few other additions that wouldn’t take as long to cook rested on the countertop. Some apples and nuts to be roasted, and mixed vegetables that could be cooked in oil. A loaf of bread was rising on the other side of the warm kitchen.

It was more food than Techno had seen in a long time, and definitely more than he and Phil could eat before it goes bad.

“What are we going to do with all this?” The man motioned to consumables strewn about the room.

“Hm?” Phil looked up from the book he was reading. He tilted his head to the side, asking for Techno to elaborate.

“There’s no way we can eat this all before it goes bad.”

The winged man nodded, and closed his book so he could fully focus on his companion, keeping one finger in the page he was on. “I invited some friends to help finish off the food. That’s where I was earlier” Techno opened his mouth to say something, but Phil kept talking. “They’re coming over later tonight, after you’d normally be asleep, so you don’t have to interact with them if you don’t want to.”

Techno nodded. He didn’t quite know how to feel about Phil picking up on his social anxiety that easily, but the gesture was kind enough.

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. It was the first day since Techno had arrived that he wasn’t doing anything from dawn to dusk. It didn’t seem like Phil was speeding up the day too much. Techno could actually track the motion of the sun via the sparse rays coming through the canopy and windows. It was nice.

He’d been reading a book the winged god had given him out in the main room. The god in question had pulled him back into the kitchen with the setting of the sun. Together, they finished preparing the rest of the food and assembled a feast in the main room of the inn.

All of the food he’d eaten over the past few weeks had been amazing. This was the best so far. He didn’t manage to eat much, appetite soured by the fact that he’d promised himself he would leave tomorrow.

About the time he started to slow down, Phil glanced towards the door of the inn, and announced, “Our guests will probably be here soon. They’re kinda loud, so you can go to your room if you want. I’ll make sure they leave you alone.”

Techno nodded and slid off of the stool, taking it as Phil’s polite way of telling him to scram. He took the book Phil’d given with him, though. And true to his friend’s word, around ten minutes later, several voices entered the inn. Through the walls, Techno couldn’t parse them well enough to tell how many people there were. At least six, mostly likely more. One of them sounded like Wilbur.

Yeah, Techno wasn’t going back out there. Accepting his fate for the night, the monster hunter stripped off his outer layer of clothes and climbed into bed. He closed his eyes and let sleep easily take him.

Half an hour later, he threw the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the mattress. He couldn’t sleep and Techno had no idea why. The people in the inn weren’t being too loud. He could barely hear them despite the thin walls of the inn. Phil’s laughter made it into his room occasionally, and Techno felt something in his gut curl every time he heard it. He wasn’t looking forward to having to leave in the morning.

A thought lanced through the monster hunter’s head. He didn’t have to leave in the morning. There was a window in his room. Techno could leave right now, without having to face Phil. Before he knew it, his heavy coat was back on, and his window was open.

The cold wind stole the man’s breath, making Techno take pause. But only for a moment.

He hefted himself up and out of the window sill. He didn’t want to look Phil in the eyes before leaving, so clearly the solution was to avoid Phil altogether.

Frozen grass crunched under his boots. Techno hadn’t noticed that it was snowing, but a thin layer of white coated the ground. Blades of grass and leaves were poking up through the powder.

He walked around the exterior of the building until he was standing in front of the inn. Through the windows, Techno could see about a dozen people socializing. The inn looked alive for the very first time.

Turning on his heel, Techno marched away from the illuminated structure. He'd seen a road leading out of town while running earlier. That's probably the road he's supposed was supposed to go. The monster hunter took a few steps past the wall in the direction of the road out of town. Then he reversed his path and went down the dirt path that had first brought him into town.

It was well into the night when he arrived back at the statue that had first greeted him. Techno's eyes pick up the details of the sculpture with no problems, even in the low light. There was no mistaking it. The facial features of the statue may be missing, but it still was the exact height and build as the man he'd been living with for the last three weeks.

Techno ran his hand over the bottom of the statue, clearing the snow and knowing that a plaque was hidden underneath. He pulled his hand away, and felt something stutter in his chest.

The words were different.

PHILZA, GOD OF SURVIVAL AND SOLITUDE PATRON OF THE ENDANGERED AND LONESOME PROTECTOR OF HIS FAMILY AND THE ONES HE LOVES

Something sad curled in his chest at the confirmation that Phil was really a god. It almost felt like a betrayal, enough though he knew it was coming.

Techno lowered himself onto the snowy ground. He closed his eyes. His fingers dug into his pants as the snow melted and the cold water bit into his legs. Eventually the chill made its way through his heavy coat.

Techno only opened his eyes when he could see light through the closed lids. Sunlight danced across the icy ground, shooting daggers into the cursed man’s eyes. He stumbled to his feet, shaking the gathered snow from his hood and shoulders. A good few inches, too.

The statue and it's broken pieces were also dusted with snow. No more grass was poking up through drifts. Techno turned around to look at the trail that had brought him here. The footpath was buried under the snow. For a moment, he didn’t know how he was going to find his way back to the village.

Something moved into Techno’s line of sight, and it took him a moment to register what it was. The white wolf blended into the powder almost perfectly. It blinked at Techno, then turned and trotted away. The cursed man followed.

The canine kept a steady pace in front of Techno. Occasionally, its fur camouflages it perfectly, and it would disappear from Techno’s sight. He was, eventually, less following the wolf, and more following the footprints it left behind.

After a while, the wolf stopped and sat down, pointing its nose at something. Techno shook his head and let his eyes refocus. The wolf glanced at him. When Techno met its eyes, it turned its attention back to the building in front of them.

A sign over the door, proudly read The Core Inn . Unlike every other time Techno had seen the building, not a single light was on inside. He turned away to look at the other buildings. Besides Techno and the wolf’s foot prints, the snow cover was pristine. Taking a moment to realign his internal compass, he headed towards the road that led out of town.

Three steps into the journey, a weight pressed against his side. Techno stumbled at the pressure, but caught himself, realizing that the wolf that had been leading him, was now walking alongside him. Hesitantly, he set his hand on the animal’s head.

The wolf pushed against Techno’s hand, and pressed harder into the man’s side. Techno took that as permission and shoved his hand through the wolf’s fur and into the warm undercoat. He may be impervious to frostbite, but cold was still cold.

He started walking again, carding his hand through the canine’s fur. It was nice to have something else grounding him in the blank surroundings. In the real world, Techno would normally have bird song or even just the wind in the trees to fill his ears. Over the weeks, Phil had become the background noise, either with his voice or the motion of his clothes.

The snow crunched softly under foot as they traveled. The massive trees thinned from towering conifers to rolling woods of deciduous. What immediately caught Techno’s attention was that the wind was back. Birds and animal tracks were numerous, criss-crossing the snowy landscape. When they stumbled upon a crossroads, Techno took note of the messy wagon tracks in the resting snow.

Compared to the premade tracks that had covered the ground in the village, these looked incredibly natural. A sign post sat across the road. Techno approached and read it, wolf still glued to his side. A place named Aria was to the left, and Mount Lacerta was to the right. It didn’t mention the path he’d arrived from.

Techno turned around. His footsteps and any indication that he’d followed a premade path to his current location was gone. He turned back around, and the sign post had vanished as well.

“Huh,” Techno said. He turned to look at his furry companion. “Where do you think we should go?”

The wolf blinked, and started walking towards the left. Techno followed. After a few steps, the canine stopped and looked back at the man. He stopped as well, waiting for the wolf to continue leading. The animal looked back at Techno and whined.

When Techno didn’t move, the wolf turned around. It walked until it was once again glued to his side. Pushing against the monster hunter’s leg, the canine took a step. It looked up at Techno, and took another step forward.

Techno got the message. They walked alongside each other for hours, basking in the cold beauty.

Eventually, the wolf’s steps stuttered for a moment. Then it took off like a shot.

The cursed man watched it’s white coat shrink into the distance, content that it was leaving him. To Techno’s surprise, the wolf stopped about thirty feet away. The canine spun in a circle in the snow. Then it planted its rear end in the snow and let out a piercing howl.

The cry scared birds out of the surrounding trees. The wolf lowered its head, and although it was too far away to hear the panting, Techno could see its tongue lolling out of its mouth.

Something bubbled in his throat. He was surprised when a barking laugh escaped. His chest felt warm despite the cold. Another laugh emitted from Techno as he sprinted after the animal. The wolf let out another howl, turned, and ran from the man, egging him to chase.

Techno did so willingly. He almost couldn't remember the last time he’d felt this elated. Snow clung to his feet, but the monster hunter didn’t notice. Instead, he looked up to the cloud coated sky and let loose his own howl. The wolf up ahead returned the call.

Back and forth, the two echoed as they ran. Sometimes it was a whoop or holler from Techno, and a bark or yip from the canine. As they ran, the energy they carried only grew, until they were both high on euphoria.

Before he knew it, the snow was gone from around Techno’s feet. The wolf led him down the hard packed dirt road for hours at a sprint. It was nearly sun down when the animal broke from the path. It veered into the trees to the left of the road. Techno followed with zero hesitation.

A small campsite was set up just out of sight of the road. Techno came to a halt by the edge. It was a tent with a small circle of stones set up next to it. The wolf was looking around, tapping its feet and whining slightly.

A stick snapped in the trees. Both Techno and the wolf’s heads snapped towards the sound. In an instant, the canine had dove through the bush between them and the source of the noise.

The cursed man heard the sound of someone yelling in surprise and being knocked to the ground. Techno pushed through the brush to follow. He found the wolf practically laying on top of someone, licking at his face. His green and white bucket hat had been knocked to the floor and large black wings moved in the dirt and plant cover as Philza tried to shove the canine off his chest.

The god managed to roll onto his side, pushing the animal off him. Sitting upright, he ran his hands through its thick coat, cooing and praising it.

“Gods, you’re such a good boy.” Philza said through laughter. “Thank you for leading him here.”

The wolf licked his face one more time before settling its head on the god’s lap.

Turning his attention to Techno, Philza smiled, and explained, “I sent him to come get you.” He ran his head between the ears on the wolf. “It’s hard to navigate in the snow, and I didn’t want you to get lost.”

He chucked. “I know you’d be okay, but it was just for my own peace of mind.”

Techno swallowed dryly. He couldn’t think of anything, so he just nodded.

Philza stood up, pushing the animal off his lap, and brushed off the front of his robe. He was covered in bits of dead leaves and small sticks were on the ground around him. The god leaned over, picked back up the pieces of tinder he’d dropped.

With his arms full of dry material, the winged deity turned to Techno. He jerked his head towards the campsite, motioning for the cursed man to come with him. They maneuvered back through the hedge. The wolf seemed elated, dancing around their legs and nearly tripping them several times. Philza chuckled at its antics. He set his gatherings down beside the unlit fire pit.

The god lowered himself onto the hard ground with a sigh, wings half unfurled behind him to keep the feathers from bending on the ground. Techno hesitated for a second, and then sat beside him. The wolf did its best to lay on top of both of them, head in Philza’s lap and back end on Techno. Its white tail was slowly turning brown from thumping against the ground.

Philza laughed again. “Get off me you big lug.” He pushed the animal off his lap again. “Go cuddle Techno, I need to start the fire.”

The wolf whined, but sulked over and dropped its head into Techno’s lap. Despite its grumpy demeanor, its tail was still thumping against the dirt.

The god gave the canine a fond look. He pulled a flint and steel out of his robe, and started on the process of lighting a flame.

Techno knew how to start a fire with flint and steel, but he hadn’t done it in decades. Normally he just ate food cold or didn’t eat at all.

The entire scene was almost too domestic for Techno. Something curled in his gut as the sparks illuminated Philza’s hands and face. The sun had dipped below the tree line and the golden light made Techno yearn for the slow and warm days in the inn.

He ran his fingers through the wolf’s fur in order to do something with his hands. After a few dozen attempts, a small flame started in the god’s cupped hands. Slowly, he added pieces of tinder until it was strong enough to survive on its own. He put a few bigger pieces of wood on top of the fire for it to destroy when it grew big enough.

Philza turned his attention back to Techno. “Do you want something to eat? You didn’t take any when you left.”

His tone wasn’t accusatory, but Techno still felt like he was being scolded for something. He nodded, saying, “Sure, I can eat.”

The god nodded. Leaning over, Philza stuck his head inside of the tent. A second later, he emerged with a bag in hand. He rooted around inside for a moment. He pulled out the cloth bag that they’d put the smoked meat inside of yesterday.

He handed it to Techno, saying, “here.” The cursed man extracted a hand from where it had been scratching the wolf’s ear to grab the sack. The canine lifted its head to sniff at the bag. Techno thought it was going to try and take it, but it lowered its head back onto his lap without protest.

Philza pulled one more thing out of the bag before setting it aside. He unwrapped the remaining pieces of the bread loaf they’d made two days ago. The god must have hid it from his guests, otherwise it would be gone by now. He set the clothes it had been wrapped in over the bag, and tore two pieces off the loaf. Philza wrapped the rest of the bread back up and set it in bag.

Techno followed the deity’s example. He pulled a few pieces of jerky out of the bag, and handed them to his companion. The cursed man offered a bit to the wolf. It sniffed the meat for a moment, but laid its head back against the man’s chest. Techno shrugged, but closed the sack up and handed it to Philza, exchanging it for one of the pieces of bread.

They warmed their meals against the steadily growing fire. By the time they were finished eating, the sun had fully set. The wolf was dozing in Techno’s lap, and he was half convinced to join it. He was emotionally drained from the excitement of running, and from his running anxieties about Philza being upset that he’d left in the middle of the night. The god had hardly mentioned Techno’s flight at all, only expressing seemingly mild disappointment that Techno hadn’t taken food with him.

Techno shook his head, seemingly shaking his brain back into working order. He cautiously worked his way out from under the predator on his lap and stood up. Philza’s eyes followed him.

“I think I’m gonna go now. I’ve wasted enough time.”

Techno started towards the road, mentally promising that he wouldn’t stop walking, no matter what Philza said to stop him.

“You could stay here tonight.”

The monster hunter paused his stride. He could hear the deity standing up behind him.

“The tent is big enough for two people.”

Techno took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“Alright. Tonight only,” he lied to himself. “Then I need to keep moving.”

“Alright,” the deity echoed. Techno could imagine the deity nodding at his back.

That's how he found himself, pressed up against the back of a sleeping deity half an hour later. He could feel Philza slowly moving against his spine with every breath. The god was laying on top of one on his wings in a position that couldn’t have been comfortable, but the deity sure sounded fast asleep.

Techno was curled up inside of a bedroll. Philza just had a blanket since his wings wouldn’t fit in a bedroll. The wolf was lying half on Techno’s legs, half under Philza’s wing. The weight of the canine and the subtle noises from the both the wolf and god soon lulled Techno to sleep.

#philza #technoblade #my writing #when the sun comes up au #this brings the posted stuff to just under 20k pog #sorry for the long as hell break #ill try to not let it happen again

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theworldoffostering · 3 years

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6:36pm

The van is mostly unloaded. I think there’s one bike to go, and then the rack and the roof box need to come off. The food/snack items still need to be unloaded and various odds and ends, but the bulk of unloading is done.

Everything and everyone is unpacked except foe the food mentioned above and DH. The mail has been retrieved from our neighbor’s home, and the bills have been paid.

Our sidewalk and driveway have been shoveled. Ms. 6 and DH also helped a neighbor shovel out her corner lot. She was glad for the help.

Three loads of laundry are done. At least two more to go. I did laundry almost daily in Florida, but then washed all of the bedding when we come home that everyone traveled with (they love their blankets, pillows, lovies, etc.). I also bought a set of flannel sheets for myself and DH that I had hoped to get on our bed today, but they didn’t make it into the washer yet. Tomorrow I will get that done. I’m really looking forward to sleeping in a warm, cozy bed.

We didn’t make it to the grocery store, so we picked up pizza for dinner. It was delicious!

I graded the assignments that my students submitted yesterday.

I went to urgent care today. They x-rayed my foot. She thinks it’s a tendon issue so she prescribed me an anti-inflammatory and wants me to ice it 3-4x/day. She’s referring me to a podiatrist and thinks I need an MRI to look at soft tissue. She said I need to be wearing good shoes. Thankfully, I just purchased a pair of Brooks on our way to Florida, and she said they are perfect. She wants me in a supportive shoe. She also said walking barefoot on the sand could be exacerbating whatever the issue is. I’ll call the podiatrist and schedule with her on Monday. I’m hopeful it’s tendinitis or something easily treatable. (Is that even easily treatable?)

DH and I just put Baby to bed. We are making E’s bed now (she got new flannel unicorn sheets for Christmas so I washed those today), and then she’s going to bed. I’m hoping NB and H go down easily so I can go to bed ASAP. I can barely keep my eyes open at this point.

Puppy peed on the floor for the first time in nearly three weeks. Mainly because we are no longer on our schedule of taking her out every 30 minutes. Time to get back on a schedule for everyone.

Had a bunch of new p*rn followers. I blocked them all. What am I doing to attract them. P*orn people, I do not have what you’re looking for here.

#re-entry #Christmas break is over #home again

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tellmewhatyouheardpodcast · 2 years

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The Headless Horseman: part 2

If you haven’t yet read Irving’s short story, I would really recommend it. The prose is super fun, mostly understandable for our post-modern brains, and contains several great characters, including the man himself, Ichabod Crane. Physically, Ichabod is described as

tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together…To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was published as part of an ongoing series written by Irving, eventually compiled and titled The Chap Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. Geoffrey Crayon was one of the many personae that Irving wrote under -- Crayon wasn’t just a pseudonym, he was an entire personality. One of Irving’s other alter egos was Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old, crusty historian said to be descended from the New York Dutch aristocracy, as imagined by Irving. By 1831 the word “knickerbocker” was used to describe the distinctive breeches worn by the American Dutchmen, and eventually the word became a synecdoche for Manhattanites, which is why New York’s first basketball team took it as its name. And yes, I believe that is a correct use of the word “synecdoche.”

I brought that up to bring this up: “The Legend of Sleep Hollow” is told in first person by someone who is neither Washington Irving, nor Geoffrey Crayon. It’s some other third guy, a narrator who goes unnamed, but who possesses specific and deep knowledge of the area of Sleepy Hollow, and of this event involving Crane. Details about Crane and the other Sleepy Hollow denizens are filtered through this narrator.

So it’s this narrator who, in addition to the humorous details about Crane’s physicality, tells us that Ichabod is the local schoolmaster and choir leader. He’s described as being a pretty good teacher, and fair, if a bit generous with punishment, which at that time was a quick rap with a switch made of birch. Ichabod is a visitor in Sleepy Hollow, a learned man from Connecticut, and Ichabod boards with the families of the school children, rotating to a new house every week.

The narrator hastens to tell us that above all else, and in spite of his high degree of education, Ichabod loves ghost stories. His favorite book is “History of New England Witch Craft” by Cotton Mather, a book which, I’m not actually sure if it’s a real work by Mather or if it was invented for this story. Cotton Mather, of course, was a very real person who helped persecute many women during the Salem Witch Trials. Luckily for Ichabod, he finds himself in good company, because Sleepy Hollow itself is said to have a “drowsy, dreamy” influence, with the whole area abounding superstitions and haunted spots. One of Ichabod’s favorite things to do is spend long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives of Sleepy Hollow’s population of Dutch housewives, who plie him with roasted apples and tales of

ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the headless horseman, or Galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes called him. He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of Connecticut; and would frighten them woefully with speculations upon comets and shooting stars; and with the alarming fact that the world did absolutely turn round, and that they were half the time topsy-turvy!

Romantically, Ichabod is after the hand of 18-year-old Katrina Van Tassell, the daughter of a wealthy farmer whose estate is outside of the village.

Like all protagonists, Ichabod has an arch nemesis: Abraham Van Brunt, or as he’s known to the town, Brom Bones. Where Ichabod can impress Katrina with his erudition, Brom is 100% pure himbo -- handsome, athletic, an expert horseman, and good-natured if a bit arrogant (or so thinks Ichabod) with a propensity for practical jokes, especially on the aforementioned schoolteacher, who has no sense of humor whatsoever. Brom is Ichabod’s single biggest obstacle to attaining Katrina’s hand, and is Ichabod’s perfect antagonist -- outside of the headless horseman, that is.

I don’t want to jump too far ahead in the story, but it’s not exactly a spoiler to tell you that on the way home from a harvest party at the Van Tassells, Icahbod encounters the Horseman. The unintended hero of the entire story, as far as I’m concerned, is the horse that Ichabod takes to that party and tries to escapes the horseman on. It’s an old stallion borrowed from Hans Van Ripper, the farmer who’s currently boarding Ichabod. The horse is

a broken-down plow-horse, that had outlived almost everything but its viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck, and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder.

Ichabod taking an ancient, disagreeable horse to the Van Tassells hoping to make a splashy entrance and impress Katrina highlights Ichabod’s intrinsic & inescapable outsiderness-slash-unintended goofiness. It also provides several hilarious narrative moments later on when Gunpowder won’t heed Ichabod’s commands while they’re both in a panicked escape from the Horseman.

After reading about Ichabod’s unintended ride out of terror, I was reminded of Robert Burns’s poem Tam O’Shanter and its titular character. Tam and Crane have a lot of things in common, including a certain arrogance, brought into relief by their authors as dramatic irony -- and, of course, their heroic steeds.

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cicada-bones · 3 years

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The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 5: The Little Folk

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Rowan rode for Mistward, leading the princess down the dusty southern road while the sun sank behind them, towards rocky foothills and the rough-hewn Cambrian mountains beyond.

Mistward was one of several fortresses along the mountain range, all of which guarded the passes between the moral-held Wendlyn and the Fae lands commanded by Queen Maeve. Many of these fortresses, Mistward included, were manned by the demi-Fae who were not worthy enough to enter Maeve’s lands. They were secluded outposts, just bare bones and basic fundamentals.

Rowan had passed through Mistward a few times, some of the sentries posted there would remember his face. They were unlikely to have any problems gaining entry. The real question was whether he would have any trouble with the princess upon arriving at the fortress and meeting his queen.

Rowan doubted that Maeve would have even half the patience he had for the girl and her attitude. He was almost looking forward to it. But they still had half a week of rough travel before that reunion.

It’d been a long time since Rowan had made this trek on the ground, or any journey for that matter, and it was actually a welcome novelty. While thick forests of evergreens stretched on their western flank, around them the earth was open and exposed, sprawling fields of boulder-spotted grasslands flowed from the sea at their backs towards the feet of the hills before them.

The air was bright and green, speaking of fresh grasses, the chirping of crickets, and the fluttering of moths’ wings. Out of the reach of the mess and noise of the capital, the land breathed more comfortably, and Rowan could feel a knot ease in his chest. Despite the company of the girl riding a few yards behind him.

Luckily, she had been just as quiet as he had. Rowan had half-expected a steady stream of complaints to spring from her throughout the rough journey, but she just looked dull and weary, seemingly incapable of speech.

Rowan was at least as exhausted as the princess. He hadn’t slept these past two nights, and although he wanted this trek over and done with as soon as physically possible, they would have to rest tonight.

The path grew steadily rockier as they approached the foothills, dangerous ravines sprouting up on either side of the road. Twilight was just beginning to fall as they mounted the base of the hills and the path pulled them into a dense forest, where the trees became tall and proud, monarchs of Wendlyn and guardians of the path to Doranelle.

The farther they traveled from the human’s realm, the more Fae Rowan could sense in the wild lands around them, hidden within thickets, behind mossy boulders, and in the mists far above their heads. He felt no threat around them, but still he tightened the shields of hard air he was maintaining around the two mares, remaining vigilant.

The air became thick with magic, a familiar metallic taint on Rowan’s tongue. It almost hummed with it, a low and quiet song. Even the girl seemed to notice the change; her head turning more often to survey their surroundings, her eyes curious.

And it almost felt as though the forest looked back – welcoming the foreign princess into its depths.

Rowan frowned slightly as he turned off the path, heading for a small stream he could hear, less than a hundred or so yards out of sight of the road. The princess sighed in relief behind him.

Rowan almost rolled his eyes. Royal brat.

He dismounted, and dumped their gear in a small hollow that would serve as their camp for the night, then guided his horse to the brook for a drink. He didn’t wait for the princess to follow, and was amused by the sounds of her stumbling on the many stones and tree roots between them. Rowan had forgotten how dull mortal senses were – the path through the trees must have been invisible to her.

Despite himself, Rowan couldn’t help wondering why the princess chose to remain in that form. Although there appeared to be much more human in her than Fae, immortal blood still bubbled in her veins. The rumors hadn’t lied – though she was demi-Fae, the princess could shift if she wanted, could inhabit a pure Fae form.

Not even Lorcan, the most powerful demi-Fae male living, could do that. Though he was blessed by the god Hellas and possessed magic and enhanced senses, Lorcan was human. And she wasn’t. Or at least, she didn’t have to be.

Yet still, the girl remained mortal, with all the limitations the form entailed.

Perhaps she wanted to seem weak, helpless. To lull him into a false sense of security in case a fight brewed between them. Rowan still didn’t know what the princess was planning for her meeting with his queen, and it made him cautious.

The horses drank their fill, and Rowan returned to the hollow to brush them down for the night. When the princess reappeared, he silently handed her some food from his saddlebags – bread, cheese, and a green apple. She murmured a quiet, “thank you,” while he began to feed the horses a mixture of grain and hay.

She flopped down before a large oak and shoveled it down. She ate loudly, obnoxiously. Rowan’s jaw tightened.

After a few moments, she said, “Are there so many threats in Wendlyn that we can’t risk a fire?” Rowan nearly sighed. He supposed it had been too much to ask for the silence between them to last the night.

He sat down against a tree opposite her, and shut his eyes, his body longing for sleep. “Not from mortals.”

It was almost a threat. A slow trickle of fear leaked from the princess. She lived in western cities, and was unused to dealing with immortal foes. Rowan mentally scoffed. The princess had seen so little of the world, and yet still acted as though there was nothing she hadn’t seen, nothing she didn’t know.

A moment passed and then something shifted in the air around them. Instead of the monsters Rowan had implied, the welcoming presence he’d sensed upon their arrival drew closer, enveloping their camp. He tensed automatically as it flitted around the edges of his shield, advancing now that they’d settled into the hollow for the night. But he relaxed as the wind carried him their scent.

It was the Little Folk. The Faeries. Their scent was deep and rich, and spoke of the land itself – of the nature of magic and the richness of the earth. It was a scent he recognized, but was entirely unfamiliar with. Though Rowan had always known about the faeries, had often sensed their presence, he had never seen them up close, or gotten a whiff of their scent.

The princess flinched as she finally sensed them as well, noticing the three sets of small, glowing eyes peeking out over the rim of a nearby boulder. But following her initial shock, Rowan felt no hint of fear from the princess, only a quiet recognition.

She knew them, had seen them before – as a child in the west. Before they were slaughtered in droves by Adarlan’s hand.

The faeries had eyes only for her, and though their scent was too wild, too foreign for Rowan to comprehend their emotions, he thought he could detect the barest trace of hope, of wonder, emanating from them.

Before Rowan could blink, he suddenly felt the presence of many more faeries, resting in the fringes of the trees around the hollow. Dozens of Little Folk come to greet the foreign princess, to bear a silent witness to her arrival.

She just sat and stared, her face unreadable. Rowan felt his confusion mount, breaking through the exhaustion and indifference. Something indecipherable passed between them, and then the princess spoke, her words clear and strong.

“They still live.”

It was an assurance, but the words were far from comforting. Rowan began to understand.

With the slaughtering and razing of the last decade, no one in Wendlyn knew how many, if any, of the magical folk in the west had survived. Adarlan had pillaged the continent, burned the ancient forests, and butchered the sacred stags of Terrasen. Stories of the massacre were told in quiet whispers around fires, speaking a warning for young Fae of what was waiting for them in the west.

The faeries had come bearing a desperate, silent question. Had their western brethren lived on? But that was not the only reason they came.

They had sought out this foreign princess, her specifically. And as she had recognized them, they had recognized her. They knew who and what she was – a Fae princess, the descendant of Mab. Her heir. Their heir.

Rowan’s teeth clenched. He wished he could speak with the retreating Little Folk, tell them that their hope was for naught, warn them. The girl was not who they wanted her to be, was no longer a princess of Terrasen. She had turned away from them, and was nothing at all.

The warm feeling of their presence left the little hollow, leaving it cold and empty and unremarkable. Rowan lay his head back against the oak trunk, and fell into a restless slumber, the anniversary of the death of his love finally coming to a close.

···

The next few days passed slower than Rowan had dared hope, and yet faster than he’d feared. Travel over land had long since lost its novelty, and the trip had become a grueling one. Less because of its difficulty, and much more due to his impatience to escape the girl and her infuriating, discomforting presence.

Yet, the princess had maintained her silence, a feat he’d previously assumed impossible. She didn’t complain, didn’t hesitate or drag behind. The girl just awoke silently before dawn each morning, led her horse a few yards behind his all day, gave him the occasional half-nod when he passed her directions, and collapsed into a heap every evening after eating and drinking her fill.

The silence was almost concerning in its consistence – though it relieved him. He’d never spent so much time with another and not exchanged a single word.

In traveling with his fellow lieutenants, Rowan had come to learn and expect certain habits from them, and while they were often quiet, the silence came from a friendly, companionable place.

Fenrys and Connall never shut up of course, especially when in each other’s company, and while Lorcan and Vaughan were aloof, they didn’t curb their thoughts – particularly in the evenings. Gavriel was also reserved, but more often than not his silences could be traced back to Rowan’s own desire for quiet. The male was perceptive, and tended to conform his actions to the moods and desires of those around him.

Rowan had only spent brief periods with mortals, and the behavior of those had been fairly consistent – large doses of fear and respect coupled with an irritating tenacity for ferreting out his knowledge of Maeve’s dealings and strategies, under the guise of polite conversation.

But the princess was just blank – a void. If he hadn’t been so confident in his ability to overpower her, it would have worried him. Any number of plots could be hiding behind that emptiness.

Even so, Rowan had absolutely no desire to engage the girl in any conversation whatsoever. If she wanted to keep quiet, that was fine with him.

Even when not with the maddening princess, conversation was beyond exhausting. Rowan only ever spoke when necessary, which, as it turned out, was not often. It was one of the few reasons he was grateful for the power that pumped through his veins, and the strength in his limbs. His presence unnerved others, drove them away.

In younger years, Rowan had almost resented it. Had often gone out of his way to suppress his power and subdue his presence, attempting to pacify those around him. It had been a perpetual source of pressure, and tension. Forcing a constant balancing act of social negotiation.

But now…now he had been stripped of that veneer of social acceptability. Now, people stayed out of his way, and he stayed out of theirs. Most of the time.

Luckily, they only passed a few groups on the road, mostly humans leading wagons full of various goods to trade in the markets of the coastal towns. All of which took one look at Rowan and gave them the right of way, some murmuring prayers to various gods for mercy. They looked at the princess with concern, worried about the fate of any human woman traveling with such a male.

It used to bother him, but now he barely noticed.

Though Rowan was ever watchful, ever vigilant, always aware of his surroundings and those around him, he was never really present. His body was separate from his mind, the vast majority of his attention pulled elsewhere, lost and adrift and searching.

For Lyria. For his mate.

For that which he had lost, in shame and in dishonor.

The strange, mismatched pair rode still farther, reaching the base of the mountains and turning eastward. The forest steadily became lusher and denser, losing the scrawny, gnarled quality of the sparse trees closer to the baking capital.

Mists began to envelop them, forcing the pair to pierce through great veils of fog as they continued to ascend the blue-tipped peaks. The cold damp settled into his skin and brushed against his very bones. While it wasn’t a welcome sensation, it was familiar and tolerable. The princess didn’t seem to be so accepting however, and her constant, violent shivering grated on Rowan. Though still – she never spoke a word of complaint.

And, despite being a city-dweller, she was a competent horseman, navigating the tricky path with ease. Never needing Rowan’s assistance, or for him to slow, even as they turned from the path on the fourth day of travel and cut alongside the mountain range towards the fortress.

This close to Mistward there was no path, and Rowan instead followed the markers set every few hundred feet – granite stones carved with symbols in the Old Language. Whorls and patterns which led them over blankets of moss-covered earth, occasional plateaus of wildflower-strewn fields, and up rocky hillsides.

As they drew ever nearer, Rowan could feel the blood oath pulling at his chest, drawing him towards the fortress. Where Maeve was waiting for them.

He smelled the smoke before the lights of the castle came into view. Mistward was an ancient place, and appeared to rise out of the mountain range itself. It was guarded by a ring of towering ward-stones, woven through the trees surrounding the outpost. They were even older, and had been placed here in a time beyond the reach of memory. Even for the Fae.

There was only one entrance, a narrow path between two massive black stones that curved towards each other like the horns of some great beast. As they passed below them, a familiar electric current snapped over Rowan’s skin, marking the barrier of the veil of magical protection that encircled the fortress.

The sentries were now alerted to their arrival, but didn’t react with any surprise. They had known they were coming.

Mistward was hardly more than a military post, no matter its age. It consisted of a few adequate watchtowers, connected by a large central building, and a passable retaining wall with an unexceptional wooden gate. While it was far from neglected, the building showed its age; moss and lichen obscuring the granite walls and wear showing on the wooden entry doors.

There were six sentries patrolling the outer wall, three on each of the watchtowers and three more at the gates – a full guard. Evidently the commander of Mistward wanted to ensure the fortress appeared at its best for its current occupants.

The princess spoke up from behind – her first words in days. “I think I’d rather stay in the woods.”

Rowan didn’t deign to respond. The pull in his blood had become uncomfortable, a fierce, inescapable tug, through the gates and into the depths of the castle.

They passed by the guards, who saluted him, and into the large courtyard beyond, where two stable hands relieved them of their horses and saddlebags. The two males were pale and harried, no doubt a reflection of the tension emanating from the whole fortress. The source of which pulled at him still more intently, a fish on a line, into the main building, up a narrow set of stone stairs, and into an upper hallway.

The princess followed him closely, her silence now heavy and filled with anxiety, which exploded into terror as they entered a small office. Where his queen gazed up at them from behind a desk.

Her eyes glittered, her lips curling into a malicious smile.

“Hello Aelin Galathynius.”

···

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